


Expensive Delights

by neatmonster



Category: American Gigolo (Showtime)
Genre: Alcohol, Escort, F/M, First Meetings, Hotels, I really don't know how to tag this..., Male Escort, Smut, Some Humor, Voyeurism, explicit but more vanilla than you'd think, porn with feelings?, some kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neatmonster/pseuds/neatmonster
Summary: He’s entertained by your bare foot moving to the rhythm of the piano, tapping on the leg of the table, and that one high heel hidden under your chair. Bringing his head back in the game, he has to fight a smile to not give himself away or raise any suspicion from his client. Then, he goes right-down fascinated when you open the notebook, pull a pen from the holder and start taking notes at a bar, of all places.
Relationships: Julian Kaye/Original Female Character(s), Julian Kaye/Reader, Julian Kaye/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	1. Something with Rum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Features Jon Bernthal as Julian Kaye in American Gigolo (if it ever gets picked up) meeting reader in a Hotel. 
> 
> \- Reader has a career and a tattoo. The rest of the details are pretty vague.
> 
> \- Mind that this hasn't come out yet and this is just me imagining how he'd be based on some inspiration I took from the original film and tidbits of information about the show. Don't look too closely, I did zero research for this.
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s a Sunday work night at La Palma when he first notices you. The lights are dimmed strategically around the tables, hinting shades of orange over palm leaf covered walls in the lounge area of the hotel. The pianist is playing something lightly upbeat, indistinguishably to him.

Sitting at the bar with a potential client, _actual client_ being the right term on this statement since she has already booked the room and tucked the key card in the chest pocket of his blazer. And as soon as that Dom Perignon glass in her very expensive hand, adorned with gold and a pear shaped diamond, is over, they’ll be heading up the elevator.

The middle-age woman takes her time savoring every drop while talking about her last trip to Costa Rica. He’s taking all the details in, including her other hand sliding down to his knee; but his eyes are on your form reflected on the sleek mirror behind the bar. You’re sitting alone at a table with a cocktail nearby and a black leather notebook resting your lap. He observes you discreetly, taking a sip of his bourbon; pegging you for someone completely out your element by your unrehearsed moves. He doesn’t know that’s your first night out in Los Angeles, or a place like this for that matter, anybody could see by the way you clutch to your journal while crossing one leg on top of the other a little awkwardly.

He’s entertained by your bare foot moving to the rhythm of the piano, tapping on the leg of the table, and that one high heel hidden under your chair. Bringing his head back in the game, he has to fight a smile to not give himself away or raise any suspicion from his client. Then, he goes right-down fascinated when you open the notebook, pull a pen from the holder and start taking notes at a bar, of all places. 

He sees you again two days after that. Same table, same notebook on your lap, same heels but slightly different dress. With nobody at his side tonight, yet, he orders a drink and lights up a cigarette.

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t smoke in here.” The bartender gestures at the sign while placing the tumbler glass on a coaster in front of him, then, producing a small tray from behind the bar for him to use.

He nods ruefully, putting it out. “Sorry.”

For someone keenly observant, he keeps missing those damn smoking signs a couple months after being released. The world has changed in 15 years, some of it at least, and smoking is not appropriate in public spaces anymore. Prison might have kept the world still in a barred bubble, aged him up, given him some new skills, and made him reflect on his actions; but it didn’t, however, change his expensive taste. Hence, picking up right where he left off. Smarter this time around. No procurers. He did learn about computers and his former cellmate, Eli, designed and set up a whole website for him. It’s been up for three weeks and is yet to see better results. For now, he just hangs at La Palma every other night, building up a clientele. Though, he had to slip a hundred dollar bill under the table to a certain manager who noted his nighttime activities recently. Small price to pay.

Using the mirror indirectly, his eyes travel back to scan you a second time. Your shoulders are stiff upright, chewing on your lower lip, as one of your feet jumps up and down anxiously under the table. He assumes you’re waiting for someone and watches you writing something on top of the page. Soon enough, a woman shows up and sits across the table. It seems a formal meeting and you barely touch your drink while you talk to this person and take a few notes out of her answers. You seem more relaxed after a few minutes, seeing you turning it around and talking intrepidly, casually propping your elbows on the table and playing with the straw inside your drink. The ice is mostly melted by the time the woman leaves but you freely drink it all and head out for the night.

The third time he catches you at the bar, he’s coming out of the restroom and rounds past a few tables, when he hears your voice for the first time.

“Something with rum.” You order carelessly. “You choose.”

“Blue Hawaii?” The waitress suggests.

“Sure.”

It’s not until he sits a couple tables over, that he realizes that voice belongs to you, occupying what has become your usual table. He’s terribly near, witnessing how you fix the sleeve of your simple, dark see-through blouse that reveals a perfectly picked bra for the occasion. You tuck your hair behind your ear and pull out the famous notebook out of your bag. You still seem out of place but more comfortable than any of the previous days. His curiosity keeps peaking towards your direction, and finds himself staring longer than he should; captivated by all the mystery surrounding you. You momentarily tuck your arm to scratch your neck, granting him a glimpse of a small dragonfly inked on the side of your forearm, close to your wrist. 

When you pull your stare out of those pages, he meets your eyes accidentally and, on a whim, holds your gaze and catches you swallowing and staring right back at him for a few seconds before his client shows up, eclipsing that first connection between you two.

After that, he keeps glancing at your table while you meet with a different woman.

Head on the game, he goes on autopilot nodding and answering when he needs to, but utterly distracted by your presence. It doesn’t help at all finding that you’re using the reflection on the window to watch him in return a few times.

The last time he looks at you, you're chewing the inside of your mouth, listening to the other woman talk. You swallow thickly, almost as if you were considering a proposition she’s just made. You nod timidly before the woman takes off, heading to the hallway straight to the elevators.

He still thinks of himself as a great judge of character even after being framed. Prison could only hurt his ego by an inch and no more. It might be a flaw but when he sees you finishing your blue cocktail in solitary, rashly tuck all your stuff in your bag and follow the same way the woman headed to, he really doesn’t know what to make out of you. 

Trying his luck a few days after, you show up right on cue wearing the same dress you wore the first time he saw you a week ago, claiming your table.

He downs the last of his drink and walks towards you before anyone can obstacle his chance of getting to talk to you. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” 

“Something with rum?” He’s the one to offer after watching you blank for a few seconds under his direct, warm stare.


	2. You Can't Afford Me

You have no idea what you're doing.

The woman you were supposed to meet today canceled on your way over but you didn't turn around and kept heading in the direction of the fancy hotel instead. You’ve come to like going out to La Palma, you’d rather stay here if you could afford it. Alas, the ridiculous amount that cost a night in here, sums to a total of a week in the two star motel of your choosing. The service is far more friendly and your shoes don't stick to the floors. The company is not bad either. Clashing with the image of the manager of the motel; the man, standing right in front of you right now, is all elegance and determination in a broad frame dressed in a neatly pressed grey suit. His face is clean shaven, exposing the rough, handsome features that work all together with the warm brown in his eyes. The length of his dark hair is pushed back loosely in a semi pompadour. If you could stick out your nose further, you'd know he smells just as good as he appears.

"I can't afford you." You say right off the bat. 

Of course, you _do_ know who he is. You've been observing him as much as he has you for the past several days. Maybe you don't necessarily know everything about him, but the kind of women that he surrounds himself with and the collection of quality suits he dons, tells just as much of why he's a frequent at La Palma. 

"I just offered you a drink, miss. Nothing else." His lips quirk up. 

Drawing a nervous smile and unable to stop yourself, you find your hand gesturing at the chair across the table.

His eyes never leave yours while he smoothly slides the classy armchair back before sitting in it. 

"I'm Julian."

Giving your name in return, your shoulders square and you shift in your seat like you were being graded before pulling from the bag, squeezed between your leg and the armrest, your journal and placing it over your lap.

“May I ask, what is that about?” He leans back, crossing his legs under the table. 

“Habit.” You huff and close it, apologetically, “I can’t help it.”

The corner of his lips pull up softly before getting the attention of one of the waiters with an elegant nod. 

“How about a Hurricane?” He surveys the menu beforehand.

"I'd like that." 

Pretty much like the first night you came to this place, you don't relax one ounce while you wait for your drinks to be served. You’re not a big drinker but given the topic you’re researching, you’ve found it quite helpful when conducting this kind of interview. Though, this isn’t anything of the sorts, you wish you could get some insight out of him, if not for the book, just out of curiosity or for future reference.

“What brings you to LA?” He interrupts your train of thought.

“Why would you assume I’m not from here?”

“You seem… unscripted.”

“Unscripted.” Your lips purse, mildly amused. That’s a new one. 

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to figure you out and I don’t think you belong here, and I say that as a compliment.” His face turns slowly to make a point, “unlike everybody else in here, you don’t seem to have an agenda.”

“Including you?”

“Including me, sweetheart.” He’s quick to reply with a speck of disdain towards himself.

“So, what’s yours?”

“What’s mine?”

“Yeah, what brought you here to my table? What are those underlying intentions brewing under that mop of hair?”

He contemplates for a second and pegs you a look that needs no answer.

_You._

Your eyes flicker timidly and you clear your throat.

“Well, I might not seem like I have one but you’re right, I’m not from here.” You confess. “I’ve been here for a week doing some research.”

Intrigued. “Does it have to do with that ridiculous notebook you carry?”

You’re about to scold him when the waiter shows up with your drinks. Interrupting your moment, he places a ball glass with bourbon on the rocks in front of Julian and a Hurricane cocktail, served in lamp-shaped glass on your side of the table. It has an orange wheel on the rim and two maraschino cherries in a stainless steel garnish pick.

“Can I have a straw, please?” You ask the waiter.

He kindly nods and steps away to retrieve one.

You side-eye Julian, gathering your thoughts, as you draw the curve of your glass, collecting the chill of the ice at the tip of your fingers.

“It’s for a book.” You exhale, somewhat more comfortable than a minute ago, but still unused to being at the other side of the interrogation.

“You’re a writer?”

“Something like that.” You utter unassumingly, as the waiter comes back with a metal straw. “Thank you.”

“Let me know if you need anything else.” He offers and goes around serving other tables.

Julian’s brow creases, picking on your light diminishing tone, “you don’t think you are?”

“No. I am.” You huff, trying to convince yourself, and repeat it more confidently this time, “I am.”

He licks his lips and takes a small sip of his drink as you prop your elbows on the table and stir your drink with the straw, eyes momentarily distracted by the group of women crowding the bar at this very second.

“Why are you sitting here with me tonight, Julian?” Your stare returns to him.

“I wanted to meet you.”

“There’s plenty of women at the bar right now who could be filling your pockets without second thought.”

“Yet, here I am...” he doesn’t pay the slightest attention to anyone else in the lounge room and casually leans on the table, mirroring your position, “talking to you.” 

“There's nothing special about me.”

“Oh, I think there is.” His browns pierce right through, trying to gauge everything that is to know about you.

You swallow and change one hurricane for another, finally sipping some of that tasty drink.

“How is it?”

“Hmm.” You pause, “delicious.”

Pleased with himself, he exhales watching you take a longer slurp.

“Are you gonna tell me about that book?”

Your shoulders shrug, “what do you want to know?” 

“Anything.”

“Let’s see…” you buy some time, staring at those appealing cherries adorning your drink and bring the pick up to your mouth, sucking the first one in and crushing it viciously fast while you gather your thoughts before giving him the bullet points. “It’s already written. My editor sent me here to backup some details, add some more background to it and I think I already got what I was looking for. ”

“Is it your first book?” His tongue clicks wetly behind his lips after taking a swig.

You nod. “I’ve written short stories for magazines and collections but nothing like this.”

“What is it about?”

“Mind that is fiction,” you warn a tad anxious, tapping on the rim of the glass with the metal pick between your fingers; explaining, “it’s about the sex industry, highly focused particularly on the point of view of an escort and the build up to the point where she’s most comfortable and the struggles she goes through after reaching a certain age.”

“Well, shit. That's the last thing I expected you to say.”

“You asked. Does it bother you?” 

“Not at all. Is that why you are interviewing all those women?”

Nodding, “my first contact suggested this place, and after that I figure I should stick to it for all the others too.”

“What drew you to that subject?”

“Boredom.” You sigh long, “I don’t know, I like writing women that are just the opposite of me and having to get into that mindset forgetting everything you know… it’s daunting.”

“You’re a voyeur.”

“Excuse me?” Your jaw drops, comically.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen you fixated and taking notes of anything around you, immersing yourself in other people's lives, literally like a spectator. You might not get off on it like you’d think other people do but it excites you.”

“That’s… slightly accurate.” You have to admit.

“If that’s not voyeurism, then I don’t know what is.” His tongue runs quickly behind his lip, “I bet you’d like to write something about me on those pages.” 

“I’ve considered it.” You bite on the second cherry, drawing a lopsided smile.

“What do you want to know?” It comes out dangerously sexy and low. 

“Right now?” You contemplate for a beat, swallowing the sweet remains of the fruit, cocking your head, “I’d like to know where 200 bucks could get me with you.”

“You were right, you can’t afford me.” He chuckles. “That could only get you to book a room in here for a night, sweetheart.”

“Do they have jacuzzi?”

“They do.”

“Then, I don’t need you at all.” You quip.

“I can provide something a hot tub can’t.”

“And what is that?” 

You’d expect him to say something racy pointing to his masculinity but no, he just gazes at you, spelling out, in all honesty, a simple, “comfort.”

You put a halt to the banter for a few minutes and take a bathroom break. Collecting yourself, you drink some water and touch up your makeup. Attempting to wrap your mind about the Julian of it all, and how he ended up at your table tonight, makes you dizzy and confused above anything else. This isn’t what you came here at all, yet you see yourself drawn to this mountain of a man, oozing irresistible charm and wits; and at this point you can’t tell if it’s real or sheer façade. 

He's taken a different seat when you return to the table, on your right side instead of across. He stands up politely and waits for you to sit back down again. 

Clearing your throat, you settle comfortably kicking your uncomfortable shoes under your chair as per usual, and casually lean back on the cushiony body of the chair. 

"There's something I can't figure out." His fingers brush your forearm for the first time, claiming your attention. 

"What?" 

"A couple nights ago, you went up. To one of the rooms, I suppose." He motions with his head. "You followed a woman."

"I did."

"You're not going to tell me about that?" 

"There's nothing to tell." Lie.

You trap your bottom lip under your teeth. 

"Are you sure?" 

Sighing, your head bows and you tense up again, folding your arms over the table. 

"She…" you swallow and your head turns to him, but you focus on his cupid’s bow while your secret comes out murmured. "She was meeting one of her regulars at the very last minute, told me he had a thing for being watched, and couldn't find an audience on time. So, she asked if I could watch them for a couple hours, assured me that was all I had to do. Just sit on a chair, first line, full porn, exclusively for my eyes.” 

"And you did, huh?" One of his eyebrows arches. 

You nod, sheepishly. "I had nothing better to do."

"How was it?" 

Your head weights to the side, measuring quickly what happened that night, "exhausting."

"Elaborate."

"I, uh, I got turned on almost immediately," your mouth pulls up nervously as you explain. “They really went at it for almost two hours straight, with few little breaks. I think I saw more positions and heard more dirty talk that I've ever cared to learn. And at some point in the last hour, I wanted to claw my eyes out but I couldn't botch this girl's gig. So, yeah, exhausting."

"I called it earlier." He huffs. 

"Yeah, I'm a voyeur, whatever. It was just one time."

"Hey, I'm not judging."

"It'd be truly hypocritical if you did."

"I agree, sweetheart."

"Have you ever had someone watching?" 

"Why? Are you offering?" He quips.

You quickly wink at him, "you can't afford me."

Scoffing, "I had mostly husbands who got a kick out of watching their wives being _loved_ by another man."

"Is that a thing?" 

Nodding, "there are kinks for everyone."

"What's yours?" 

"Satisfying women.” 

“Is that so?”

He leans closer, clearing his throat and pushing a hair strand off your neck, tickling your skin with the passing of his nails. 

“Can I be blunt with you?” He licks his lips and swallows.

“I thought we were already.”

“I mean a little more detailed.” Once again, he emulates your position, touching your elbow with his.

Curious. You brace yourself for shock. “Sure.”

His head swivels discreetly before stating low and sultry, near your ear, “there’s nothing more beautiful than making a woman drip down her leg, leaving the room knowing that she was completely sated and got what she paid for. Gets me off faster than anything else.” 

You bite the inside of your mouth as your eyes get glossy, and feel your blood rushing to your center the closer he gets. 

“That’s something.” You say, lacking a better answer. “I guess the money is not bad either.”

“The money is not bad either." He agrees, grinning and watching you struggle on the spot. “What’s yours, sweetheart?” 

"Mine? I don't have one." You scoff, enumerating, "I'm pretty vanilla. I don’t like toys. I enjoy missionary and falling asleep next to someone touching my hair."

"Yeah? What do you like about missionary?”

“It’s the most vulnerable position you could find yourself in." You state, as one of your legs bounces anxiously underneath the table, "Setting aside rougher kinks and bondage, that’s a whole other word. Stripping down and offering your body that openly, trusting them not to crush you and… forcing yourself to stare and let that person see and feel your every breath, twitch or reaction is one of the most raw, intimate things you could share with someone. At least for me. For some people... I figure it’s just sex and that’s okay too."

“That’s very romantic. You oughta show me sometime. Would you?”

“Only if you show me how you make all those women drip.” 

Your mouth curves up, realizing you’re practically invading each other’s space as the tension builds up. 

Your anxious knee knocks his leg a couple times, and his hand slides under the table, bringing it to a stop, “I think I’ve already had.”

“Not quite, yet, handsome,” you murmur, grazing his plush lips before sealing them shut.

Eliminating the space left between you two, your mouth opens, tasting the waters and slowly figuring out the shape of his kiss, as his whiskey-tinged lips part against yours. You’re the one to bring your tongue eagerly into the mix, creating an explosive cocktail, sensually curated for your own unique experience.

The hand clutching to your knee digs its fingers harder and your pulse pumps faster, wishing it would slip under the skirt of your dress instead. You hum, pushing your knee further apart as a hint, but he oddly takes it away and frames your face instead, breaking the kiss.

“Not here, sweetheart.”


	3. Gigolo Kit

He agrees to drive to the motel you’re staying at.

For some reason it felt weird at the moment to go halfsies for a room at La Palma or let him pay a whole night just for a fuck. It was pretty funny to see his face considering getting a room in his _unofficial_ workplace. So, you settle in your motel instead and head off, with him driving his convertible behind your rental.

Suffice to say, you still have a few reservations about this whole night, you grow unsettled on the drive and when pulling up, you stay on the driver’s seat, asking yourself what the hell are you doing.

Julian climbs out of his car, approaches your window and waits for you to roll it down.

“You’re not gonna murder me, are you?”

His lips purse, amused, taking a good look around the parking lot, quipping, “Well, you took me to the right place to do so.”

“Stop, I’m being serious.”

“Look, I get it. We can shake hands right here and call it a night if you’ve changed your mind or just having second thoughts. We could go back and let me take care of the room situation if that makes you feel safer. There’s no wrong answer here.”

Thinking for a beat, your nape falls against the headrest. “Can I have your name? Your full name?”

“Would it make it easier for you?”

Nodding, you fish for your phone in your purse as he produces his wallet, taking out his driver’s license and showing it to you.

“Julian Kaye.” You scan it suspiciously close to see that it is real.

“That’s right.”

Typing quickly on your phone, you shoot a message to one of your closest friends, indicating where you’re staying at and with whom. Something that you and your friends have been doing for a while as a precaution.

You inhale and step out of the car with him holding the door open and closing it behind you.

“Did you tell someone?”

You nod, locking the car with the remote key as he takes your free one, lacing fingers with you.

“Smart girl.” 

“I didn’t say anything about…”

“What I do.”

You shake your head.

“You know I’m not gonna pay you, right?”

He chuckles lightly, “you’ve made that clear, sweetheart.” 

You lead him up to the second floor and inside your room. After turning on the light on the nightstand, the room appears to be nicer than what the place shows up from the outside. You have your best clothes hanging in the closet and your untidy suitcase open by the bed, that your foot quickly kicks underneath before tossing your bag on the chair and excusing yourself to the bathroom, needing a minute to pull it together. 

You’re either too gullible to see otherwise or letting your sex drive cloud your better judgment, because you actually believe he’s genuinely into you and seeks no other than having a good time tonight. That’s all that is, you tell yourself before coming out of the bathroom. 

Meanwhile, he has removed his blazer and now he stands in the middle of the room, hands tucked in his slacks’ pockets casually, gaze focused on the picture above the tv. 

“Can I get you anything?” You step out of your stilettos, shrinking your height considerably.

“No.” He utters softly, turning to you and extending his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. “Are you still nervous?”

“A little.” You run your palms over his arms up to his shoulders, measuring his toned muscles over the fabric of his dress shirt.

He sways your body to ease you up, flashing a shy smile, “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” 

“Okay.” You repeat almost soundless, placing your cheek against his chest and hugging his neck, as one of his hands slips into the back of your hair, massaging nicely on your scalp.

You close your eyes, sighing, “I’m sorry I was braver at the bar.”

“It’s all right. Take your time, sweetheart.” He kisses your hair and keeps rocking you sweetly, as if you were dancing. 

“Hmm. That feels good.”

“Yeah? I had someone clue me in on that.”

He’s proven to be constantly fast to come up with something to swoon you every other minute. Now, it’s his fingers and the mellow tone of his voice that you couldn't appreciate at the bar. Then, comes the intoxicating citrus scent, imprinted all over his clothes, invading and having your nose searching for his exposed neck above the collar of his shirt. His head angles backwards and you feel his Adam's apple moving at the passing of your lips. He hums, most delighted, as your hands slide to loosen the knot of his tie. Pulling it over his head, you continue with his buttons all the way down, then tug his shirt open and push it off his shoulders. 

Pressing your teeth on your lower lip, you scan the smooth, defined contours of his torso that shows a tattoo on his left pec and a ridiculous collection of muscles that you’re not sure you could name. Unable to stop yourself, you run your fingers down his stomach to his lower abdomen, tracing the V-line pointing to his cock, witnessing his suit pants swelling up below his belt at your touch. 

Stopping your hands from reaching further down, he cups them tight in his large palms and kisses your knuckles before framing your jaw and claiming your mouth like he’s been wanting to. Tentatively, he explores your mouth for a few seconds, mildly sucking your lower lip and pecking your top one before going all in, linking his tongue with yours; firmly stroking your cheeks at the same time.

Clinging to his sides, you sigh through your nose, as he steals all the wind out of you. You can’t help but moan-mumble his name and you part to grab some air. He exhales as you press your body flush against him, locking your arms around his torso. Your teeth scrape around his collarbone, while his hands fumble along your back, searching for the zipper of your dress. He brushes your hair away and you brace yourself harder to his back, hearing the hiss of the zipper going down before noting his fingers tips tracing your spine. Your skin breaks into gooseflesh, sending a nice tremor all over your body. 

You ease into every caress, wondering at moments if this is just him or the professional act you’ve been observing for a week. Perhaps a mix of both. Let’s be honest, he does this for a living. It’d be really naïve to think that he hasn’t touched a woman exactly like this before. At this moment, the rational part of your brain is being overpowered by lust only and doesn’t care much for analyzing who you are dealing with tonight. 

Shrugging out of the sleeves, Julian pushes the top of your dress down to bunch at your waist before handling your body, turning you around and pressing himself against your back. Gasping, you send one arm to loop around his head, reeling him into your neck, where his tongue juts out to trace the curve up to your earlobe. He keeps mouthing on your skin, as one of his arms locks around your middle section, keeping you in place, while the other pushes under the fabric of your dress, pressing right over your panties. 

“Is this it what you wanted at the bar?” He hisses in your ear. 

“Yes,” your breath hitches, having his fingers rub steadily on you. 

“You wanted to be watched?”

“No.” 

“Be honest.” 

You laugh softly, unable to focus, “I don't… I just wanted you to touch me.” 

“Like this?” He slips further down to your tease at your entrance, coaxing your first drops to spill out. 

Your answer comes out moaned and he tucks his fingers under the elastic of your underwear to caress your tender flesh. Your vision fades around the edges and you have to grip on his forearm when his thumb finds your clit and starts circling around it.

“You’re fucking soaked.” 

_No, shit._

Tiptoeing, your hips push backwards, pressing your ass against his crotch.

“Fuck me.”

You feel him hum on your neck before pulling your dress down to your feet. One of your thigh-highs slips past your knee and you wiggle your foot out of it.

His palm draws the curve of your hip, pushing you forwards. Ordering, “get on the bed.”

Swallowing, exhilarated, you turn around and sit on the edge of the mattress as he goes down on one knee to take the other stocking off your leg. He rolls it down and tosses it aside with the other. Then, he sweetly kisses your knee and the middle of your thigh before sending his hands to unclasp your bra with practiced ease. Taking it off you, your nipples harden before his eyes, as you get a second wave of prickles forming all over your body from just him staring at you. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He rasps low, getting stuck for a moment, extending his hand to cup your face. 

The corner of your mouth pulls up, kissing the heel of his palm. As much of our body is aching all over, you appreciate that slow down.

His face changes again when he stands up, grinning playfully and making sure you see him taking off his belt, pants and underwear. He’s gone mildly limp when his cock springs into sight but it doesn’t make him any smaller at all.

Pressing your lips in a line, you scoot backwards, getting rid of your panties and laying on the bed, observing him grab something from his jacket’s pocket before getting back to you.

Crawling over your body, he leaves at hand a different sort of wallet and extends your arms above your head, peppering kisses all over your chest. 

“What’s that?” Your head motions, scanning the thing, it seems more plushy and has a zipper that goes along three of its sides. 

“Protection.” He mumbles against your skin.

Your brow knits, “you’re clean, right?”

“I am, and plan on staying that way.” 

He nestles between your legs and your hips slant up to him to feel his hardness fully swelling. Taking that as a hint, he fits himself in your folds and grinds hard and long, collecting all your juices around him. Almost killing you of anticipation at how thick he feels.

"You're so big." Your thoughts spill out of your mouth. 

"You make me big." He groans right back. 

Noticing the frustration in you half-moan, he pecks your mouth and pushes himself to his knees, grabbing the wallet and unzipping it. You eye one side has a band holding a few condoms and the other, harboring lubricant packets and some other that you can’t identify. 

He rolls one on and sends his fingers to trace your opening. Balling the sheets, your breathing hitches when he probes two inside and circles around, massaging slowly, as your walls soften at the edge of his finger tips. 

"You're gonna make me come." 

"That's the idea." He pats lightly on your thigh with his free hand, coaxing you low, “relax for me, would you? ”

Inhaling, you close your eyes and he carefully pushes another one in, as your muscles clench involuntarily around him. It feels a little cramped but it doesn’t hurt for what he’s doing.

“Easy.” His fingers slip out and reach to grab one of the packets as you lean on your elbows, giving him a look. 

"You're a little tight; said, I don't wanna hurt you." Ripping the corner of the container, he squeezes the gel on his fingers, “it’s water-based vegan. Totally harmless.”

"I don't even care if you use spit at this point." You huff, wondering, “what else do you have in your... _Gigolo Kit_? Some blue pills, maybe?” 

“Blue pills? How old do you think I am?” He scoffs, directing his fingers to extend the lube right over your folds and entrance generously, causing your body to quiver, letting your back fall against the mattress. 

“ _Gigolo Kit_.” He snorts after processing your remark, “don’t call it that.” 

Licking his lips, he lowers his body on top of you, adjusting your legs and finally, guiding himself inside. You can tell now why he needed all that preparation beforehand; he slides in partly but your walls act up, straining against the hardness that pushes between your lips. You shift a little and consciously breathe to let go of that tension and take it all in.

“Are you good like that, sweetheart?” Capturing your eyes, he leans on his forearms, on each side of your head, tracing the line of your hair with a thumb.

Nodding, “yeah, just… be careful.”

Pressing a smile on your forehead, his hips start rocking experimentally with great care and there goes the vulnerability that you mentioned earlier, skyrocketing through every cell; knowing that he could break you any second but trusting that he won’t. You awkwardly keep shifting your legs for better comfort and it comes when you tilt your ass up to him and tuck your legs higher, that the pressure ebbs and you find your hands pushing on his bottom a little harder. 

“There you go.” You feel him smoothly fitting all in in one motion and you urge him to up the pace. “How does it feel now?”

“Good,” you exhale, panting, “so good.”

Moving easily with him, your foreheads meet, breathing over each other before trapping his groans in your mouth. Your nails glide up his back to hold onto his shoulder blades, bringing him even closer to you if that’s possible. The pleasure builds up fast and the only sound clouding the room is your bodies colliding over and over, as his drive becomes more urgent 

Your nails sink bluntly in his back and his lip curls, breaking from the kiss to frame your chin instead. Forcing his eyes on yours, he measures your every reaction, beautifully struggling to find your release. Moaning his name, he pushes sharply at the same pace, without breaking a sweat, until your body nearly shatters underneath him. The orgasm hits you so hard, your mind doesn’t even register when he finds his release; you see it after when he pulls out and the latex is literally impregnated by his fluids.

Rolling to the side, a little winded, it feels warm all over and leaves you so relaxed your eyes bat slowly and you have to fight the urge of falling asleep. He’s about to stand up when you reach for his arm, asking him to hold you. 

“I’ll be right back.” He strokes your hair and disappears behind the bathroom door for a minute.

After turning off the light, you're facing him, using his arm as a pillow and snuggling against his chest. Noting your body cooling down, he tugs the sheet to cover your skin before draping his arm around you. 

“Mind if I close my eyes for a beat.” 

“No, no at all. Go ahead, sweetheart.” 

“Promise again you're not gonna murder me in my sleep.”

"You're adorable, you know that?" He laughs softly, “I promise I won't.” 

Shutting your eyes, you don’t fall completely asleep but rest for a few minutes. One of your arms curls around his midsection, as he traps your top leg between his. Your head tilts forward touching his collarbone, noticing his fingers slipping at the back of your hair, caressing softly all over your nape.

The sound of a tv blasting suddenly through the wall pulls you from your drowsiness and you inhale the warm scent surrounding you like a blanket. Sighing, you feel him shift and greet you quietly as your lips pucker against his breastbone, unconsciously leaving a trail of slow kisses up to his neck, where your mouth parts to nibble on his skin with more purpose now. He drags his palms all over you, rounding past your ass and prodding two fingers inside your slicked walls, as one of your hands tentatively wraps around his length. Realizing, you didn’t get to touch him like this earlier, you jerk him slow, getting his cock to fill your fist easily. 

Julian's grunts rumble in his throat and you up the pace. The tip of your tongue traces the perfect shape of his mouth before sliding inside, kissing him more viciously than earlier.

Almost without words, you shift together, finding a new position with your back on him, as he puts a new condom on and slips into you with no effort on either part. It feels greater than before, all your muscles are utterly relaxed now and you keep melting in his bubble as he wraps himself around you, having one of his arms curled around your neck, hand clutching to your breast; as the other hand tucks between your legs, rubbing deliciously on your clit at the same time he pushes into you.

“Take it.” You hiss, noting his cock twitching wildly inside you. “Come for me, Julian.”

Growling under his breath, his teeth scrape your shoulder, while his hips snap against your ass, increasing the rhythm to the extent that you almost come together. He goes off first and if you couldn’t tell before, you feel it all this time around. His hands clasp on you so hard, it almost hurts. His mouth echoes a moan against your skin when his ultimate release hits your walls behind the sheer latex, as your entrance spasms around him, sending all your juices racing down your thigh. You cry out loudly, grabbing that hand between your legs and bringing it to a stop.

Heaving together, the air coming from his mouth and nose hits your shoulder. You direct his fingers to your leg, showing him the mess he’s made out of you. Kissing your earlobe, he purrs how beautiful you are like that directly into your ear. 


	4. No Goodbye

He left like an asshole before you woke up. No note or goodbye left, only his smell lingering on the cheap sheets that you got rid off immediately before breakfast.

You can’t figure out why it made you upset. You truly had no expectations other than sex. It was just a fuck. You keep repeating yourself like an idiot. Deep down it felt like more, at least on your part. There was chemistry, even before you touched each other, you didn’t make that up. 

Bringing yourself to finish what you came here to, you meet the last two girls, choosing a plain coffee shop down the street to avoid catching him in the lounge.

On your last day in Los Angeles, you receive a bouquet of flowers on your door with no message other than a business card, with his name and number printed on it, in a small envelope clipped between a mass of red roses and pink carnations.

_What kind of game is he playing?_

It only makes you furious and you rip the card into million pieces directly into the trash can. You’d do the same with the flowers if they weren’t so pretty. You divide it into little bouquets and leave one on each door of the motel, keeping a couple of roses and carnations to yourself.

You’re weak, you admit to yourself while packing everything during the afternoon before your flight. You take a shower and go on a walk along the beach in the evening and when you reach your car, you end up driving to La Palma for one last time. 

There's not many people in the lounge but Julian’s there, sitting at the bar alone with a drink in front of an empty stool next to him. 

Swallowing, you walk towards the bar, hoping no one notices you’re in your jeans and plain t-shirt, and take a seat on the free stool on his other side.

He sees you in the mirror and despite the shock in his eyes, he keeps it together and only stares at you in the reflection.

“What are you doing here?” He rasps low.

“You left the other night.” You breathe just as quiet, crossing your arms tensely on the edge of the bar.

Uttering dryly, “that was the deal.” 

“Then, why the flowers?”

His head tilts and you see him hesitating. “I… I can’t do this right now.”

Sighting, you close your eyes for a second. “You’re an asshole.” 

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” He pauses, “you shouldn’t have come here.”

Shaking your head, “no, I shouldn’t have.”

A woman suddenly shows up, casually kissing his cheek before taking that other seat next to him. His expression changes completely to greet her back like nothing’s wrong.

You send your feet to touch the floor and head in the direction of the restroom without looking back. Crossing the archway leading to a small hallway, you enter the room and wipe a couple tears sliding out the corner of your eyes before washing your face and hands. 

When you come out, he’s waiting for you, leaning on the wall next to the door, appearing rueful after all.

“What the hell do you want now?”

“I’m sorry…” He says your name so low it hurts and you have to brace yourself from breaking. “I’m really sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Cause you’d have asked me to stay.”

Your head bows, unsure of how to respond to that, as his postures straightens before you. 

“Am I wrong?”

Shaking your head. “You could have left a note.”

“I didn’t know what to say. That’s why I put my card in the flowers.”

“I wasn’t a client, Julian.”

“No, you weren’t.” He affirms. “You’re much more.”

Sighing, “what am I supposed to do with that?” 

“I have no idea.” His lips pull up nervously. “I just needed you to know.” 

“Well, I’m leaving tomorrow.” You shrug, tucking your hands in your pockets, “I guess I got my answer and you should get back to...” your head motions to the archway a few feet away, and you huff promptly at the ridiculous situation you’ve put yourself in tonight.

“Let me drive you to the airport.”

“I can’t let you do that, I have to return the car.”

“I...” he pauses to think for a beat, “I’ll go with you and take a cab after.”

Your lips purse briefly, “why?”

“Cause there's something here, sweetheart. I thought it’d be easier to stay away but you being here right now, throwing me out of my game…” trailing off, “I know it’s a long shot but we could keep talking, see if we can be more.”

“I live almost a thousand miles away, we could never make that work. ” 

“I’ll answer any of your questions for that notebook of yours, anything you want to know.”

Tempting.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” You brow arches.

“Is that a yes?”

“Sure,” you half-nod.

*

He shows up early to drive with you to the airport a few hours before your flight. You have breakfast in one of the restaurants at the terminal while you bombard him with questions. Like the first night you talked, the chemistry is still palpable and your plane takes off with the promise of keeping in touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know how to end this so I left everything open to see if I could turn it into a series, cause I have a few more ideas.


End file.
